


Wake Up

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Delusions, Erebor, M/M, Permanent Injury, Post-BOFA, Unreliable Perception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4262862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin wakes up after the Battle of Five Armies and although his body may never fully recover, everything seems alright. Or is it? Something strange is going on in the mountain and he needs to find out what it is - especially since everybody seems to be keeping secrets from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up

**Author's Note:**

> A bonus for Dworin Week that I came up with the other day. I haven't written proper angst in too long :P.

I.

When Dwalin wakes up after the battle, his body seems like it's on fire. Every single movement hurts, even something as small as trying to open his eyes. He groans and someone holds something against his lips, gently lifting his head so he can drink the water from the cup. It seems blessedly cool against the heat of his skin.

He floats back and forth between unconsciousness and being awake. There are voices around him, whispering, mumbling, all so strangely quiet. Sometimes he thinks he can hear Thorin, feel the soothing touch of his hands upon his skin, the softness of his lips when he kisses his forehead.

"Don't give up." his One seems to be saying. "Fight."

And so he does.

 

II.

It takes a long time for him to truly wake up and even longer for him to recover. They have brought him into the mountain when he was still unconscious and he is thankful when he opens his eyes and sees the familiar walls of stone around him. Few rooms in Erebor are truly habitable yet, but Dwalin is in one of them - as one of the heroes of the company they have granted him a small chamber all to himself, in what he thinks was once one of the night guard's chambers. And even though it's small and lacking any kind of luxury, his room is never empty.

Most of the time it's the members of the Company around him, all of whom are all still recovering from their own wounds, especially Fíli and Kíli. His memory of the battle is hazy, but they tell him repeatedly that he was the one who has saved their lives, has called them back before Azog's trap could come into effect. He almost paid for it with his own life when he gave the princes time to flee and engaged the orc's son in a fight that left him broken and bleeding on the ground. He would have been dead hadn't Fíli and Kíli come back with the rest of their companions and thrown themselves against the giant orc.

Bilbo leaves not long after he has woken up. He says goodbye to their burglar in his room, not feeling able to go outside yet. Bilbo looks saddened when he bids him farewell and Dwalin wonders if there is anything beyond him leaving that is weighing on his heart. Thorin had apologized to him and forgiven him the theft of the Arkenstone, has he not? He has grown very fond of the little hobbit and he hopes Bilbo can find his smile again.

If it isn't Óin who's forcing medicine down his throat, looking after his wounds, changing bandages or otherwise torturing him, it's his brother and the Company entertaining him with stories of everything that's happening in the mountain at the moment. And when they aren't there, Thorin is with him. He rarely leaves Dwalin's side, although he almost seems to fade into the background amongst the others. There is no crown upon his head and Dwalin supposes it's because he still hasn't reconciled the king he is now with the madness that was surging through him.

But he's doesn't leave, is going through documents, sharpening his weapons, smiling at Dwalin whenever Dwalin looks up to see if he's still there. And that's all that matters.

 

III.

As time goes on, it becomes clear that Dwalin will never fight again, or at least not like he once did. His bones have broken one time too many and despite Óin's skill and that of the other healers, they don't quite grow back the way they are supposed to. Eventually he will still be able to move enough to train the new recruits of their armies, but his days as a warrior are over.

Thorin stands behind him and smiles sadly when Óin tells him the news, the light touch of his fingers on Dwalin's skin almost impossible to feel. Everybody seems to react differently - some of his companions do not broach the topic at all, as if not talking about it will somehow make it less real. Others, especially his brother and the two princes, are more straightforward, trying both to distract him and reassure him that the loss of his fighting ability does not mean he is any less a dwarf to them, on the contrary.

Strangest of all is Dwalin's reaction itself. He knows he should feel anger or burning disappointment - but at the beginning he feels nothing at all, just a strange satisfaction for what he has bought with his sacrifice. The kingdom is regained. The princes are safe. Thorin is here. Everything else time will make alright.

 

IV.

Sometimes, he and Thorin talk. His One says little these times, as if the war has snatched away his tongue and all of his words. They speak the most when they are alone, Dwalin's room illuminated only by the candle on his nightstand.

"I wonder if everyone of our company who fought in this battle feels as if they've aged decades." he sighs after it has taken him the better part of an hour to sit up, walk to the other end of the room and back to his bed.

"All you need is time." Thorin smiles. He seems to smile more often these days - but his smiles have also grown sadder, as if there is a secret weighing on his heart. "You know how long it takes to heal."

"Yes, yes, I know." Dwalin grumbles. "What about you? Are you still in pain?"

"No, it's all gone." Thorin's hand goes up to his chest, as if feeling for a healed wound. He walks up to Dwalin and takes his hands in his, bending down to press a kiss on his One's forehead. Dwalin hums quietly, enjoying his faint touch. Then he frowns, remembering something.

“Why are you here with me so often? Don’t you have a mountain to run now?”

Thorin laughs quietly, not letting go of Dwalin’s hands.

“You are more important.” he says softly. Dwalin frowns, but doesn’t say anything. This softness is unlike his One. He knows how much Thorin loves Erebor, how long he has been waiting for this. And now that Dwalin is in no more danger of dying, he should have been working like mad to get everything back to order again in his kingdom. Maybe the quest and his madness have changed his perspective on things more than Dwalin has thought initially.

He can’t say he dislikes it. And so he keeps watching Thorin when his One returns to his seat and picks up some papers to read through again. He does so until Thorin’s form starts to blur and Dwalin falls asleep.

 

V.

The others have noticed the change as well. Whenever he begins to talk about Thorin they grow quiet and solemn, knowing that something is different from how it used to be. Even the laughter on Fíli’s and Kíli’s lips seems to die as soon as Dwalin mentions his partner.

“Don’t you think Thorin is behaving a little strangely?” he asks Balin one evening when his brother is smoking his favourite pipe next to the hearth and working on some documents, no doubt containing important trade negotiations or something the like. Thorin isn’t here. He seems to have slipped out of the room when Balin came in; Dwalin didn’t even see him go.

“Why?” Balin asks carefully, not meeting Dwalin’s gaze. His voice sounds like something pains him greatly.

“Because he rarely seems to care about the mountain and being a king anymore. I thought that this was what he wanted. That once we came back and regained Erebor he would finally be…well…free.”

Dwalin doesn’t quite know how to express the thoughts in his mind properly. But there is definitely something different about Thorin, something that he cannot quite grasp, but which worries him more than he likes to admit.

“Maybe that freedom isn’t quite everything we all imagined it to be.” Balin sounds like he is weighing every word he says and Dwalin frowns. It’s almost like his brother knows more than he is letting on and he doesn’t like the feeling.

“Is there anything I should know?” he asks him and Balin freezes, suddenly as insecure as Dwalin has never seen him before.

“Maybe you should ask him that. By the way, have you seen my quill? I swear I was holding it just a moment ago…”

Dwalin frowns. But no matter how often he asks, the answers remain vague, and after a while he begins to avoid the topic.

 

VI.

His dreams scare him. Inside them he is often alone and shouts into the darkness with a broken voice, but no matter how long, there is no reply. At other times, phantoms haunt him, dead dwarrows with eyes that are pits of endless darkness and when he looks down at himself he sees that his hands are covered in blood.

He often wakes up screaming from those dreams, thrashing around, and more than once he has accidentally hurt himself whilst doing so, making Óin grumble and worried sparks appear in his brother’s eyes. Sometimes, the only thing that can calm him down is Thorin’s voice and the gentle touch of his lips and fingers. He only falls asleep again when his One is near, his eyes trained on the reassuring sight of his form next to him.

 

VII.

The first time he steps outside of his quarters is strange. He doesn’t go far; Dwalin yet feels much too weak to do so. Whenever dwarrows see him they respectfully step aside although Dwalin can see the pity in their gazes and it angers him. He doesn't want pity. He doesn't _need_ it.

There are whispers whenever he passes and he hears fragments of sentences, small words floating past him that seem to be devoid of any meaning. _Poor dwarf...has lost so much...looks like death itself has been knocking on his door..._ Dwalin just shakes head. The opinion of others is meaningless. He will find his strength again, even if it will be a different kind than before.

He turns his head and looks at Thorin, who is walking by his side, not saying a word but giving him a small, reassuring smile. Dwalin smiles back and most of the dwarves he passes lower their heads, as it befits in the presence of the king. Their whispers follow Dwalin back all the way to his quarters. It's Thorin, and him alone, who gives Dwalin the strength to hold his head up high until he returns to his room.

 

VIII.

"Do you think we should tell him?"

"No, Óin said it would be better to wait. It's too much right now. He'll find out eventually."

"But-"

"Ssssshhhh, he's waking up."

Dwalin opens his eyes to the whispers in the room, his mind unable to make sense of the words. Tell him _what_? Does it have something to do with Thorin and his strange behaviour? He has tried to ask his One about it several times, but never truly received an answer.

Half the Company is assembled in his room, the worry in their eyes palpable as they look down on him.

"What happened?" Dwalin sits up and tries to ignore the dizziness the sudden motion causes inside his head.

"You went out of your rooms yesterday and fell, hitting your head pretty hard, do you remember?" Kíli's eyes are brimming with sympathy. Dwalin shakes his head, aborting the movement when he notices how it makes the dizziness even worse. He looks through the room and searches for Thorin, but cannot see him.

"No." The only thing Dwalin remembers is taking another walk outside his quarters to strengthen his muscles with Thorin and then suddenly slipping on a surface on a spot on the ground where someone had spilled oil earlier.

Balin sighs.

"Óin said you probably wouldn't. You have a slight concussion, so we took turns watching over you to make sure that nothing worse would happen."

"Thanks." Dwalin wonders where Thorin is. No doubt his One spent most of the night at his side and probably has important governmental business to deal with right now.

The others linger in his room for a while longer now that he has woken up, asking him how he feels and making sure that he has everything he needs. Their gentleness and quiet worry moves Dwalin even though he thinks it's a little overdone. He can take care of himself.

 

IX.

Dís arrives almost a year after they have retaken the mountain, at the end of the summer. She is part of the last caravan that comes from Ered Luin, having overseen the affairs there until she could be sure that all their people were cared for - those moving to the mountain and those who have chosen to remain.

Dwalin is strong enough to walk through the mountain now from his new, more luxurious quarters. He still does so rarely, although the others try to push him into it, telling him he needs to exercise and train his body. For Dís, however, he takes it on himself to walk all the way to the gate with the help of his trusty walking stick that Bifur has made for him. He looks around but cannot see Thorin with him; Dwalin can only surmise that it is because his partner is still too ashamed of the events in the mountain and the dragon sickness conquering him to face his sister. It's strange - Thorin is many things, but he has never been a coward.

Dís greets her sons first, hugging them tightly when they throw themselves into her arms, and pressing kisses on their heads. Balin is next and they press their foreheads together in a shared sentiment, Dís' eyes shining suspiciously wet when she looks at the old dwarf. A single tear falls when she comes to Dwalin, and, without a word, envelopes him in a tight hug. He leans on her so that he can return the embrace without falling and breathes in her so familiar smell.

"Thank you, Dwalin, for protecting them." Dís whispers into his hair.

"I would do the same again and again." he replies quietly and knows it is the truth. He would. Dís simply hugs him once more and then steps back, ready to greet the rest of the Company filled with old friends for her. Dwalin watches as she hugs them one by one, exchanging quiet words with them and wonders where the sadness in her gaze comes from.

 

X.

That evening, there is a large dinner in her honour and Dwalin still cannot see Thorin. He is getting worried; he thought that his One would be here by now to finally greet his sister. Nobody else seems to wonder the same, though, and Dwalin is confused. He stands up to leave between two courses of the dinner to go looking for his partner, because he knows something isn't right. Balin looks at him when he gets up from his seat.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"Outside. I need to find Thorin."

For a moment, Balin simply stares at him, his fingers clenched into fists. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then seems to think differently about it. There is no other reaction from him and so Dwalin takes his walking stick and hobbles out of the grand hall.

It doesn't take long for him to find Thorin. His One appears almost out of the blue when he rounds a corner, leaning against a green marble column and smiling when he sees Dwalin.

"Why aren't you at the feast?" Dwalin wants to know. Thorin shakes his head, his smile turning slightly sad.

"It's not my place." He says it with such conviction that Dwalin believes him at first. Then the implication of Thorin's words trickles into his mind and he frowns.

"Why? What are you-"

He never finishes the sentence.

 

XI .

"Dwalin! Who are you talking to?" It's Balin's voice that interrupts him. Dwalin frowns when he turns around, looking at his brother who looks both worried and heartbroken at the same time. Can't he see?

"Thorin, of course." he answers and gestures behind him.

"No." Dwalin can see the pain in his brother's eyes as Balin presses out the word. He walks up to Dwalin and clasps both his underarms with his hands, looking straight into his eyes. "Dwalin, Thorin isn't _here_."

"What are you talking about? I was talking to him just a moment ago and he said-" Dwalin turns his head and interrupts himself when he looks at the column that Thorin has been leaning against. The space is empty. There's no one there.

"Dwalin, you need to listen to me." Balin forces him to look back at him. "Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. Thorin isn't here. He has never been. He's _dead_."

"Liar." The word is over his lips before he can even think. "He's _here_. He was standing right behind me, I was talking to him-"

"Wake up, brother." Balin's cheeks are wet when he grasps Dwalin's head and brings their foreheads together. "Óin told us to wait, that the delusion would disappear on its own, but I just can't do it. I can't do it any longer. You need to _see_. Thorin died in the battle and we buried him months ago."

"No. No no no, you're a _liar_ , this isn't _real_ , Thorin is fine, he's King Under the Mountain now..." Dwalin knows he's babbling nonsense like a young dwarfling but he doesn't care. The only reason he's still standing upright is because Balin is holding him.

"I'm sorry." Balin whispers. "I wish I could change it."

He gently tugs at Dwalin's arm and after a few moments Dwalin knows where he wants to lead him.

The crypts.

 

XII. 

He is trembling when they enter the large stonen chamber deep within the mountain. It isn't only exhaustion from the long way down here that makes his limbs shake, but also the fear in his mind that what Balin says might be true. Thorin flickers in and out of sight, sometimes walking next to him, sometimes gone. Balin lets Dwalin go through the large stonen arch first and Dwalin almost wishes he hadn't, although at the same time he is absurdly grateful that he has.

The shivers that run through him make it hard to hold himself upright when he approaches the large stonen tomb in the middle of the room. Mithril flowers lie on it and an inscription is written on it in the ancient runes of Erebor's folk.

"Read them." Thorin is standing next to him, his voice soft as he urges him forwards, giving him one last gentle smile. Dwalin hobbles another few steps until he can read the words. _Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Sigvór, King Under the Mountain_...he cannot even decipher the rest of it before the memories come rushing back.

 

XIII.

The clashing of weapons, red and black blood spreading in strange patterns on the white snow of Ravenhill. Dwalin sees Thorin fight against the white orc, but he is too far, has promised his partner to save Fíli and Kíli from the trap they are running into.

He can hear Thorin bellow in pain and Azog's angry shouts and his hands are trembling for the first time in a battle in over a hundred years. But he has foes of his own to fight, cannot join his One. Dwalin dispatches the two orcs in front of him and turns around just in time to see the white orc's blade pierce Thorin's chest.

The scream that rips itself from his lungs is one of pure pain.

He keeps fighting, slashing, whirling, praying a prayer that he knows cannot be answered. The next time he looks Thorin has collapsed on the ground, the snow below him slowly turning red. That is the moment that his mind shuts down and he throws himself in front of Fíli and Kíli, directly into Bolg's path, thinking that if his heart has died it would only be fair for his body to follow. The rest is a blur of pain and endless, all-encompassing darkness.

Dwalin comes back to himself on the ground of the crypt, leaning against the large stonen coffin and shaking all over. Balin is there next to him, holding his hand and enveloping him in an embrace as soon as he sees that Dwalin knows.

"I'm sorry." he murmurs over and over again. Dwalin cannot answer, cannot even hold on properly. His entire insides are numb and his mind is still reeling.

He thinks he can see Thorin's form again for a moment, standing in corner and smiling at him sadly. Dwalin wonders how he has never noticed the dark spot of blood on his chest before. He reaches out in his One's direction.

"Thorin." he whispers.

But there is no reply and when he looks again, Thorin's form has disappeared.

He screams.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I'll leave it to you whether it was all in Dwalin's head or Thorin's ghost was real.
> 
> Edit: I also just noticed that another wonderful writer (independently!) had exactly the same idea for today's fic and now I'm grinning because personally, I find it amazing to see two such completely different products coming from the same idea =D.


End file.
